The Divorcee Murder Club

Sesenta Y Dos ~ 62

“Speaking of that old Italian man. I should call him.” I brush past her and head for the living room.

“About Evan?”

“Yeah. I need advice.”

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over, Miguel.”

“Fuck me running!” I stop dead in my tracks, my head falling back as I groan at the ceiling. “I forgot what a headache it is to have a girlfriend.”

Angie’s footfalls pause behind me, but then the taps of her bare feet resume as she circles me, arms folded.

“Girlfriend, huh? I thought you told your mom we’re not together.”

“I guess I changed my mind.” I shrug and brush past her again as if I didn’t casually slap a label on our relationship. 

I snatch my cell phone and the TV remote off the coffee table and sink onto the couch to dial Sammy. Angie gets in front of me, blocking the telly, and she's still only wearing a towel. Her arms are no longer folded, and there’s some weird expression on her face like she’s trying not to smile.

“So, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Yeah.” I lean to the side and click the TV on, but she blocks me again.

“I need you to ask me properly.”

“Huh? What are we in high school?”

This time, she folds her arms and raises her chin. “No, but how do you know I want to be your girlfriend unless you ask.” 

“Fine.” I toss the remote aside, slide off the couch like my spine is jelly and land on the floor like a pile of goop. I take her hands and look up at her with puppy eyes. “Angelina Mendoza, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend so we can continue cohabitating, having wild sex, and being toxic together?”

"I can't with you!" She yanks her hands away. “We’re not toxic. Sure, we have our bullshit, but at least we acknowledge we’re not perfect, and we’re working on it.” 

“Whatever you say, honey.”

“This isn’t a very romantic ask.” She pouts, so I peel myself off the floor and get to my feet.

“Will you be my girlfriend or not? The offer expires in two minutes.”

“Fine, but you better take me out to dinner every week. None of this minimal effort shit most men do.” 

“Sure, I’ll take you to dinner and buy you flowers and all the romantic shit you deserve. Happy?” I sink back onto the couch.

“Not until you deliver on your word.” She wedges her knee between mine, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth. “I’m about action, handsome. So I’ll believe it when you sweep me off my feet.” 

“Sweep you off your feet, huh?” I grab her by the ass and yank her down onto my lap. She giggle-yelps. I’m starting to like the sound of her contentment, so I brush a few wet curls away from her face to digest how her smile lights up her eyes fully. “I know I’m not good at expressing how I feel, but one thing I know how to do is be romantic to show that I care. You’ll become so sick of how sweet I am to you.” 

“Doubtful.” She slides off my lap. “Anyway, I need to get ready to leave.”

“To where?”

“I get to see Ana today. Remember? I texted you about it last night while you were at your mom's.”

“Right…” I scratch my skull, but I don’t recall shit.

“I need to get ready. I just hope Jeremiah doesn’t show up. He likes to do that.”